


Party

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Fundraisers, Gen, Party, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6783787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hospital playground doesn't accommodate kids with special needs. Mary and Emma have a plan to change that. Jed has his own opinions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party

“Explain it to me again,” Jed said from the other end of the couch. He was officially finishing up some late dictations while a series of Foyle’s War episodes played softly on the flat-screen across the room. He’d made himself comfortable, wearing an old Yale tee-shirt and sweats of an unknown provenance, and his clean bare feet were in Mary’s lap. She’d perched her laptop on the side table next to her and had made sure the top to her travel coffee mug, now filled with some sort of rosehip-chamomile blend Emma swore by, was tightly closed. She had her Pinterest page open with her Tumblr and Facebook feeds in the background. She stretched her feet inside the Ugg knock-off slippers she wore around the house and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the chili just starting to come together on the stove. There were a couple of avocados nestled in a wooden bowl on the counter, but Jed had agreed he’d take care of the guacamole.

“It’s a fundraiser for the hospital’s playground—you know, I know you know this, that playground is not usable for any kiddo with special needs and since they expanded the sixth floor, there are a ton more patients who could use it. Child Life has been asking for ages to update it and there are a few parents who are willing to be donors, but it’s not going to be enough to cover the cost of the whole playground. So, Emma and I thought the residency could organize a fundraiser and we’d probably be able to get the changes made this spring,” Mary said, pinning a little sand bulldozer and a bunch of costume hard hats with her left hand while she kept her right hand on Jed’s ankle.

“But it’s a party—a Turn-themed costume party?” Jed asked, again. Mary huffed a little.

“No, it’s a fundraiser—it’s just, Emma and I thought, we would get better attendence this way, there are a lots of other residents who are into that show--” 

“Is there a silent auction? A table with cupcakes for sale? Wrapping paper? A raffle? Wait—is there going to be a dunk tank?” Jed was ramping up, she could see that. He was clearly enjoying himself. Actually, she was too. This was pretty much the perfect point of the week—2 pm on a Sunday with neither of them on-call, post-call or pre-call. Mary had had a very productive morning, had called in to the unit and found all her patients’s sugars were holding steady, plowed through a journal article or two, folded all the laundry, done cardio and weights at the gym and assembled the chili. Emma and Samuel had confirmed they were coming over and she felt she had a good chance of convincing Henry to stop in, at least for a while. Jed had the satisfied look he got after he’d succesfully made her come twice with great, exhilarating, and much appreciated effort on his part and then watched her eat all the waffles he put on her plate. He’d been lounging around the apartment, but the counters were all cleaned, the herbs freshly watered in the windowsill and she’d heard the ping on his computer from his research assistant at least twice and not heard any subsequent growling, so she presumed the study results were still promsing. 

She fake-scowled at him for the teasing. “No, none of that. It’s going to be a dinner dance with tickets and you’re supposed to come in costume, but you’re buying tickets—it’s a fundraiser! Come on—none of the residents or fellows are going to bid on a silent auction and it’s November—who wants a carnival with a dunk tank?” She hoped he would just leave that last question because she was pretty sure he would volunteer both of them to sit in a dunk-tank for basically any cause whatsoever.

“Just admit it—you and Emma want to throw a big party and all the girls will dress up in fancy dresses with—what, petticoats? Was that hoop skirt time? A whole bunch of corsets and lace and all the guys have to show up in stockings and a, whaddyacallit, frock coat? Well, I won’t embarrass you at least—I have very nice legs for stockings,” he announced, stretching his legs and prodding her thigh with his feet. He smirked and she rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, fine, it’s a party. A fancy dress costume party and if you’re not careful, I’ll make you shave your beard and wear a powdered wig!” She pushed his legs off her lap and started to get up but he was quicker than she thought and had grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down on top of him. Her body responded even before conscious thought; she relaxed onto him, enjoying the length of him against her, his big hands warm on the bare skin of her back where her button down flapped open. One hand moved a little lower, gave a luxurious carress to her bottom. She looked at him, his eyes so bright and happy, and she felt his emotion reflected and amplified through her.

“I’m just a little surprised at you, Mary Phinney-Foster. I thought dealing with our wedding was enough event planning for you for a while. Although, you did such a good job with that—party planning can be your fall-back if this whole pediatric endocrinologist thing doesn’t pan out. You and Emma are adorable with your Turn About, what was it,” and he paused for her to supply the much-discussed-with-Emma name.

“Turn About is Fair Play Fundraiser,” she said, smelling the hint of his cologne, feeling slightly languorous.

“That’s right, Turn About is Fair Play, and we can call it a fundraiser all day long if that’ll make you happy. Just, please don’t shave my beard, I think we’ll both miss it—I’ll wear, I’ll wear pretty much anything else you want though, especially if you are going to wear one of those dresses like the ones on your Pinterest page, like that red one,” he said, looking up at her “like you’d set the stars in the sky,” as her mother had said last time they’d gone over for brunch.

“I think you mean that Outlander dress Clare wears, that one that’s cut to her belly button. Um, no, I’m not wearing that. But I think you will like what I end up in,” she said first firmly, then a little suggestively.

“I think I’ll like helping you out of it more, Comtesse” he countered. Her phone pinged, Emma’s ping, but she ignored it for the next hour as her husband kissed her senseless on the couch. Later, she saw Emma had offered to bring fresh tortilla chips and had convinced Aurelia, an OB resident they’d met at a 5 am yoga class, to maybe, possibly come by tonight, if Mary had enough chili and if she thought Henry would stop by after all. Mary fumbled and sent a frog prince emoji as a response to the six texts, which she knew Emma would understand. They could talk more about the party after Jed and Samuel had started the Batman marathon since it was their turn to choose.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a response to "party" as a prompt. It's similar to my modern AU Always a Bridesmaid but with slight differences in the details. It's also intended to try and lure some of the Turn fans back to Mercy Street or at least to say-- hey guys, don't forget us!


End file.
